My Evaluation
by nine miles to go
Summary: Dr. Cox yells at JD, but does he realize that those words could be the last he ever says to the intern? JDA. Duh.
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

**Background Info of the Fic**: This fic is set in season one, and some of it is taken directly from the episode (can't remember which episode and it's too late at night to check some crazy fandom site, so whatev). It's the one where all the interns get reviewed by someone and Dr. Cox keeps refusing to evaluate JD, so he keeps on bugging Dr. Cox to do it. I suggest you watch the episode or know of it, because the ending made me cry with joy! Lol, actually I'm a robot without emotions, so I rarely cry whilst watching TV...but if I COULD cry while watching that episode, damn it, would I cry that river Justin Timberlake sings about!

Well, enjoy!!

* * *

I creep into the ominously dark board room. This is where Dr. Cox said to meet him, right? _Right?_ Oh, god, I can feel my heart pounding in my head. Is this really where I want to die?

See, a couple of hours ago I snapped like a twig and actually (misTAKE) yelled at Dr. Cox to give me an evaluation. Was that so much to ask? I mean, every intern got one, even Elliot, who drives half the people insane as it is! Stupid little miss A plus plus. That's right, two pluses. And here I am stuck with Dr. Cox.

_Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm,_ I think to myself, eyes scanning the room. I breathe a sigh of relief. _Oh, good, he's not here. _

Just as I begin to relax a bright light blinds me. After wincing I look up to see the silhouette of a man, his hand on the button of an obnoxiously, painfully light objector. "Dr. Cox?"

"It's time. Sit down," his says, his voice deep and intimidating.

I pull out the chair and sit, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach. It was all fine and dandy when I was just evaluating myself, you know? All peachy keen. What the hell had I been thinking, getting Dr. Cox into this?

Dr. Cox becomes slightly more visible, stepping into the light of the objector. He jams his hands into his pockets and stares hard at me.

"Now, what do you want me to say?" he asks. "That you're great? That you're raising the bar for interns everywhere?"

I laugh nervously. Damn, this is going badly. How is this fair? Isn't it his _job_ to evaluate me? He's torturing me with something he's expected to do. "I'm cool with that," I say tentatively, gearing myself up to make a get away.

"I'm not gonna say that," he tells me. "You're okay. You might be better than that someday, but right now, all I see is a guy who's so worried about what everybody else thinks of him that he has no real belief in himself."

I look up at the ceiling. I would have preferred being handed the evaluation form and never discussing it again. Was there really a question on the evaluation that had an answer as "in-depth" as this? Yikes, they really must have enforced the "additional comments" portion at the bottom of the form.

"I mean, did you even wonder why I told you to do your own evaluation?" he asks.

Because you have no time for interns, because you hate me, because you're too busy watching the "stories" you're addicted to, because you're jealous of my hair, because you hate me, because I forgot your coffee yesterday… "I-I can't think of a safe answer. I just figured—"

"Clam up!" he yells, cutting me off and making me jolt a bit. "I wanted you to think about yourself—and I mean _really_ think. What are you good at? What do you suck at? And then I wanted you to put it down on paper. And not so I could see it, and not so anybody else could see it, but so that _you_ could see it. Because, ultimately, you don't have to answer to me, and you don't have to answer to Kelso, and—you don't even have to answer to your patients, for God's sake!"

He takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching in anger. His voice gets eerily quiet as he says, "You only have to answer to one guy, Newbie, and that's _you_."

A few moments pass. I hope I'm not shaking, because I feel like I just may end up in the corner chanting fairy tales in a moment. It's not really fair, though, is it? None of the other interns had to go through this. Why the hell is he so mad? I haven't killed anyone. I guess I'm okay so far. I think I'm at least worth one checked out evaluation form.

Dr. Cox shakes his head like some weary old man. "There. You are…evaluated." He tosses the folder over in my direction, and it glides down the table until it lands in my lap. Stupid Dr. Cox with his good aim. I stare at the folder, wishing I could stab it repeatedly until it never existed. But then again, it would probably just be admitted into this hospital, where I'd be forced to treat as a patient…

His voice pierces the silent air. "Now get the hell out of my sight," he commands. "You honest to God get me so angry, I'm afraid I might just hurt myself."

I feel my eyes water slightly, but I'm so not going to cry about this. It doesn't matter. It's just Dr. Cox, after all. What the hell does he care about me, or anyone for that matter? He's probably going to burst out laughing the second I leave this room. I hang my head and walk towards the door, trusting myself not to start sprinting.

Once I'm outside of the room, I feel like everything around me is a flurry of activity and I'm just stuck inside my head, drifting in the halls. People keep bumping into me. Dr. Cox's words ring through my head with every "excuse me" and "sorry" I have to squawk out as I run into people.

_You honest to God get me so angry…_

I shiver, clutching to the patient's chart harder. I look up at the clock and realize my shift was over an hour ago. How long have I been here?

"Bambi, go home," Carla says, as if reading my mind.

I look over at her. Does she think the same thing Dr. Cox thinks? That I really care so much about what other people think of me? Because it's true. I do. But a lot of people are the same way! How is it a bad thing?

I nod at her. "Just have to finish a few things with patients," I say.

She cocks her head. "You okay?"

I fake a smile. "Yeah…it's just…" I shrug.

"Aw, c'mon. You can tell me." She puts down her chart and looks at me expectantly.

"I, uh, got my evaluation," I say, my throat still a bit tight, my fingers clenching the clipboard that the forms still clung to. "From Dr. Cox," I clarify.

Carla puckers her face at that, sighing sympathetically. "Poor Bambi," she says, holding her hand out. "Let me see it."

I open it up. "It's blank," I monotone before she can even look at it.

"Oh…"

"Dr. Cox decided to give a verbal evaluation," I explain, still feeling the initial shock of being yelled at. "He was…pretty mad."

"It couldn't have been too bad," she says warily, not sure if she believed her words of comfort.

I bite my lower lip. "Eh," I say, waving it off. "I'm not going to obsess. I mean, all I have to do is avoid Dr. Cox for the rest of my life, right?

_Cut to JD, creeping behind Dr. Cox deftly in a ninja costume. He sticks what appears to be a tracker on Dr. Cox's white coat. _

"_Who's there?" demands Dr. Cox, swirling around. _

_The camera pans up and we see Ninja JD clutching to the ceiling, a drop of sweat on his forehead about to fall. He clenches his eyes shut, willing it to dissolve…_

_Just as Dr. Cox is turning to leave, the sweat drop hits the ground, causing him to look up and see Ninja JD. "Damn it, would you get down from there? There's work to be done!" _

"Like Spiderman's blood," I muse, mulling over the possibility. Ninjas probably got paid more than doctors, anyway. Too bad I'd already wasted a couple hundred thousand dollars learning about medicine.

Carla ignores the comment and says, "That's right, Bambi. Try not to think about it," she says distractedly, filing charts into one of the metal cabinets. "He'll just act like it never happened, anyway."

"Really?"

She shrugs. "It's Dr. Cox," she reminds me. She looks up at the clock on the wall. "Now go home, it's past your bedtime," she joked, hitting me on the arm.

I grin. "Night, Carla."

She grins back. "Good night."

But it isn't enough, hearing her reassurance. I keep thinking about Dr. Cox's rant; I can't help it. It wasn't the typical generic girl's name paired with a few insults regarding my lack of testicles or gelled up hair kind of rant—he was angry. Really angry. After I thought that I was, at least, doing somewhat well.

I walk out to my car, feeling completely numb. The engine starts up, practically on its own. Then I see my hands on the key and realize I'm acting like a complete robot.

Why is Dr. Cox having such an effect on me? I mean, I know that I'm not the best of the best or anything. Hell, I'm just a lousy intern. Maybe that's why he yelled? No, probably not. There had to be an actual reason.

I take a deep breath, trying to leave my troubles behind me.

_Cut to the back of JD's car as he drives, a string attached to his car. At the other end of the string, bobbing up and down on the street as the car keeps going, is a clanging can that has "Just Married!" crossed out of it with a sloppily written "JD's Troubles" in its place. _

I wish that even that fantasy could make me smile, but truth be told, I'm upset about what happened back there. I probably wouldn't sleep tonight. The things Dr. Cox said to me—those were the types of things that just kept flashing back and forth inside your mind.

Finally I just sigh for the billionth time, focusing on the road. And that's when it happens. Honest to God, it's a green light as I approach the empty intersection, so I keep going. Then some guy comes out of nowhere, bolting across the street like a suicidal squirrel.

Back in college, I took a defensive driving course to avoid getting into accidents. It was hours and hours of drills and scenarios. But no one had ever prepared me for this—no one ever could.

Panic seizes me, and in a flurry of irrationality I swerve the car sharply away from the crosswalk. My stomach jolts as I feel the car tip. Oh, god. I learned how to deal with this, hadn't I? I should _know. _I paid three hundred bucks for that damn course!

Turns out it didn't matter. The car keeps tipping, then rolling, rolling…the noise is deafening in my ears. I hear my own screams, powerless to stop anything from happening. Glass is smashing; I close my eyes, too scared to see what's happening as I continue to fall.

Finally it stops. The car is on its side—at least, I think it is, because…because…

My eyes close. I can't tell…it doesn't matter, anyway…

_Did I ever call Geico…?_ I wonder vaguely.

Then the pain hits. Oh, god.

* * *

Needless to say, this will be continued...or WILL it...? MWAHAHAHAHA. Lol I don't know what that was supposed to mean, but update because I just had the CRAPPIEST day. I've been sick sick sick for the whole week, like the headache-stuffy nose-ears ringing-sore throat-hacking like a dead duck-unable to talk at ALL kind of sick, but I've gone to school ANYWAY, because if I don't go to school I have to miss swim team/work. STUPID learning. I threw my math textbook at the wall today, teehee :D. My teacher never explains the homework till the day after its due. Bad battle plan if you ask me. SO REVIEW or my math teacher gets it (j/k!).

Good thing about being sick, though? You can just point to your throat and say in a strangled, dying animal voice "Can't talk" if you don't wanna converse with another annoying human being. Eh? EHH?? Except I can't resist talking, which only makes it worse, which is why I can't talk NOW...it's killing me! I TALK ALL DAY LONG! ALLLLL DAAAYYYY LOOOONNNGGG! (asterisk) deep breath (asterisk).

G'night.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

* * *

My Evaluation

_Chapter Two_

I can taste blood in my mouth. Vacantly I wonder if I bit my tongue or something, but it doesn't seem to be coming from anywhere. I raise my arm, touching it to my mouth, and feel stabs of pain all around me. My face is bloody, I can feel it.

My body is smushed up against the side window on the car, which landed on it's right side, I guess. Oh, crap, this hurts. My window's broken and it hurts to be leaning against it like this, but I can't defy gravity and lift my head up. That would be impossible. I'm not even sure if I have a head at this point.

I hear sirens. Already? I close my eyes, listening. That's not an ambulance, it's a different siren…it's a police car. More than one. _Please see me_, I think desperately. Everything's on fire. I just want to be at home…

The sirens stop. I think I might have blacked out for a moment or two, because when I open my eyes, someone's yelling.

"Can anyone hear me?" I hear the voice.

"Geez, this is bad…"

"I said, can anyone hear me in there?"

They can't see me. I'm stuck in the side of the overturned car and they can't see me. An irrational thought occurs to me—what if they leave because they don't think anyone's inside? Then I remember that they wouldn't let a vehicle take up space in the road—if I'm even _on_ the road at this point.

"Hello?" the voice keeps asking, persistent.

"Hi," I gasp, the single word tearing my lungs apart with effort.

"There's someone inside," the second voice says. "Oh my God, there's someone in there."

The first voice keeps going strong. "I'm Officer Pike," he says. "We've called 911. Can you talk to me?"

I open my mouth. "I…think." No, I want to say. No, no, no…leave me alone…

"Can you give me your name?"

My name. It's JD, I want to say, but I can't. I can't say anything. I can't get enough breath to make the words. I close my eyes, trying with all my might, but it's a fruitless attempt. I wiggle my fingers and feel blood between them. I have the sudden urge to throw up, but I don't even have the energy for that.

"I said, can you give me your name?"

_I would like to make special mention of one intern here: John Dorian…_

"J…" I cringe and suddenly feel dizzy. "JD."

They don't hear me; it's only a whisper. I want to cry out in frustration. Everything sucks. My car's probably totaled and god only knows how much medical care's gonna cost after this. And how are they going to get me out of the car?

I try to zero in on the source of the pain, try to figure it out, but it's everywhere. It's like a giant monster. I shudder, wishing I could just blink three times and make this go away. I don't even know if I hit that guy running past or not. It's unbearable.

"Sir, I need you to stay calm," says the officer from before.

Stay calm? Easy for him to say. He's not trapped in an overturned car bleeding only god knows what color of blood all over his favorite (and ONLY, might I add) car. But what does it matter? The car's totaled. _I'm _totaled. If Dr. Cox was mad at me today, he's sure as hell going to be furious with me now. I don't even want to think of how many days of work I'll miss.

I think of Turk at the apartment, waiting for me to come home so we could have our _Gilmore Girls_ marathon. He's probably started without me. It's the one night that Carla is staying with her mom, so it's our only night to watch it without being stripped of our manhood. But I guess I'm already being stripped of mine here, what with the inability to talk and complete helplessness.

Sirens are coming. I want them to shut the hell up. Some people think the sound of sirens is like salvation, hope of survival, but honestly—the sound is blaring in my ears like its mocking me. I want it to stop.

Finally it does. I hear people talking and rushing, I hear something going on, but I can't understand them anymore. Someone tries to talk to me again, but I feel too hazy to respond. I want to apologize to them. Maybe if it had been some other guy in a wreck, he would stay awake long enough to respond.

But I give up. I feel my hands fall from my sides and my body limp, praying for darkness.

_Smart kid, he's extremely confident, and his enthusiasm—and his determination to always be better—is something I see in him twenty four hours a day. _

The next time I wake up I'm not even in the car anymore. That's the first thing that occurs to me—the car, the car's gone, where did it go? I hear something beeping, people shouting at each other, and sirens again. Loud sirens. Where's my car?

I realize that a rescue team must have gotten me out of there. It's not dark anymore; it's light in here, wherever I am. I close my eyes. An ambulance. And I know where it's going, too.

There's so much pain that I can't even cry. Instead I try to lean over to cough. I can't move, and blood spills out of my mouth as I start to hack. The people around me are muttering again, but I can't hear them. _I'm a doctor, too,_ I want to say, but they've probably seen my scrubs and nametag by now. At least they have identification.

How is it that _that's_ what I think of? Identification? Screw them if they don't know who I am, they should have just left me there. It didn't hurt so much when I was in the car. Now there isn't a slight numbness. The adrenaline's worn down, and I feel everything. At least I hope that it's everything. My ribs, my stomach, my leg, my head…I try to check off all the separate agonized body parts, but it just makes me feel worse.

In the midst of all this, I start to think about death. I know I don't want to die, but what if I do? Even lying in my own blood in an ambulance, hearing vague voices and probably inches from death, it still seems so unreal to me. Even facing dead patients in the morgue every day, seeing them die sometimes before the ambulance even makes it to the hospital, could never prepare me for this.

I don't want to die. I have so much more left to do. I have to travel, I have to do something important, I have to buy my first house, get married, have kids…I have to see Turk at his wedding, see Elliot when she finally stops crying in the supply closet, see Dr. Cox's raging face as he rattles on incessantly…I have to fill out that paperwork on Mrs. Banks before tomorrow…

All the things I might not get to do if I die now. This can't be it. I'm only twenty-six. After eight years of learning all the crap I've shoved into my head, I couldn't just I_ die. _

Had I ever practiced a religion, the prospect of death might be easier to face. But all I can think of now is how maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Dying, I mean. The pain would go away, right? Nobody would be bugging me, yelling stuff over me, asking me questions…why can't they leave me alone?

_He cares. Probably cares too much. _

I feel my heart beating faster, the machine beeping with it, like an eerie harmony echoing in the recesses of my mind. Someone's shining a light in my eyes, asking me more questions. I struggle to make out the words, squinting at the mouth of whoever is speaking.

"...ask you some…" the voice drawls on. "…name John?"

"No," I slur, hearing how stupid I sound. I'm a doctor, too! I want to kick and scream like a four-year-old. I'm _not _this stupid, I'm _not_ this weak. I can't be. Because then I'd be proving Dr. Cox right.

"…your name, sir?"

I strain my lungs, gasping, "JD."

The world becomes blurred and unclear around me. I see streaks of colors, whirling together. So this is what it feels like to be high. Huh. I feel myself heaving for oxygen. My lungs are screaming for release, but I can't fill them fast enough. There's a mask on my face, I realize—but even with it, it's hard to breathe. I choke on blood, wondering if it'll be the last thing I ever taste—the sick, coppery twang of liquid between my teeth.

This can't be the end. I'm not ready to face the end. I wish I could call Turk and tell him what's happening…I wish I could call _anyone_…

"…Sacred Heart, too! Seen him…crazy one, Dr. Cox…"

I smile vaguely at the idea that someone associates me with Dr. Cox, even when Dr. Cox pretty much cringes like the devil has risen every time I walk into a room. The ambulance lurches to a stop, and I feel myself being moved. The god damn beeping, it's still there, always there, ringing in my head. The blast of air is cold when the doors open. So cold…

My eyes close.

_But he's definitely somebody you don't want to lose. _

There. Now that burden's off my chest. It's a total win-win situation—I got to rag on Newbie, he learned a lesson, and I finally found something to tell to the board members to actually make them think I'm paying attention to the interns. My work here is done.

I walk towards the door, ten faces still looking up at me expectantly. Alright, so it is a little weird to have Big Bad Dr. Cox compliment an intern. And maybe I did sort of believe what I'd said about the kid, even if I didn't want to admit it. But they could discuss that matter at their next golf tournament. For now, I just to leave.

"Now, if you have any questions, uh….well, I couldn't give a crap; I'm goin' home. You all get paid way too much for doing nothing, anyway."

And then I'm off. Classic Perry. I've got this nailed now—they can't possibly think I've gone soft after that last comment. I leave the room, smiling to myself at how well this has all worked out. Sure, Newbie will be jumpy for a few days, probably, but he'll get over it. Besides, who the hell cares? If he can't take a little constructive criticism, he shouldn't be a doctor, anyway.

I hear a rush at the door as I walk towards my car. I ignore it, of course; my shift's over. But then my pager beeps.

* * *

OMG! Who saw it?? I saw it! I SAW THE PREMIERE!

Did anyone notice, though, that it was a little...er...eccentric? I mean, Scrubs is eccentric, but honestly, pregnant Carla and Elliot grinding with Kelso? Gay seniors kidnapping JD and taking him to Las Vegas? DR. COX'S HAIR?? Oh, dear god, PLEASE tell me someone else noticed how strange it looked! It seemed like they were almost a little too desperate for laughs. They didn't take anything very seriously, and I thought it was a bit OOC. First of all, JD doesn't drink anything but Appletinis. I don't think he's ever actually gotten drunk on the show before. And the suddenly he's swigging down champagne and getting all loopy, and no one says anything! Not to mention that there was never a heart-to-heart with JD to ANYONE. Maybe I'm biased because I am a full fledged JDAer, but that pissed me off. Dr. Cox didn't even say a WORD to him, and Turk was all like, "I'll say whatever you want me to." BITCHES. Poor JD.

Now the question is...how are they gonna get rid of Kim and the baby? Realistically, they can't stay. I think she might be signed on for six episodes tops. Which is why I wrote the fic _How to Save a Life_, figuring that...well...something's gotta give there. I'm hoping for some JDA. JDA! JDA! JD--aw, crap, bedtime. I just came out of a six hour swim meet, then tomorrow morning I run a race, then I go to work, then I go to another swim meet, and then on Sunday I work again and do a voice lesson (btw, I STILL can't talk! that'll be interesting...)

Anyone else heard Snow Patrol? I heard the song Chasing Cars for the first time about an hour ago on the bus ride home from the meet, and I'm OBSESSED. I'm not even kidding. It's rivaling my obsessions with The Fray and Dashboard Confessional! Lol I heart angsty boy bands. How to Save a Life and Don't Wait are, like, my FAVE EVER.

Thanks for all the reviews from the last chapter, guys! It made me so happy :D. Now gosh darn it, you all better update YOUR fics, because it's been a full day since anyone's updated! (Of course, I'll say this and ten people will have already updated, because I think Irony the Puppet Master is controlling my life). UPDATE!

Oh, and I must explain my new friend, Mirk. He is the God of JDAers. That means we all must worship Mirk and revere him as our leader. Veneration of Mirk consists of two steps: 1). Write lots of JDA, and 2). POST IT! And do this at least once a week. Preferably twenty times, but you know, you take what you can get.

Dear god do I talk a lot. Stop reading this, you loserz. :D Night night.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

**READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END OF THIS PASSAGE!! READ IT! **

* * *

My Evaluation

_Chapter Three_

I see him before I even read the page.

My mind clouds over. There is no basic instinct, no rush to try to help, no pent up passions to lead me to scream at the paramedics and demand what the hell had happened. Because I already know what had happened. I already know what is going to happen.

_I_ did this. And now he is going to die.

Without the shock of product-induced dark hair, I might not even recognize him. In the split second the paramedics wheel him past me, I look him up and down. There's so much blood. Too much of it. He won't live to see tomorrow; it doesn't matter, what I told him, what I told the board of directors. It never will.

My eyes trail to the pager unconsciously, reading the words. It's Carla. _Heard you gave Bambi "the talk." _

"Oh, God," I say to myself, falling back against the hard wall by ambulance docking area. I kick it the brick hard. "Damn it!" I scream. "Why?"

This is happening to fast. There's just no way to process it. I stay standing, my eyes transfixed to the pager until eventually the text faded away. So much blood…

I feel the sudden urge to throw up. Not out of disgust; I'd seen many bloody, dying patients before. It's part of the job description. Medicine isn't for the faint of heart.

No. I want to throw up because I what I did, and I hated that. My actions…sure, they had consequences. Doesn't every action have a consequence? But this is different. I'd always been able to deal with the consequences before seeing the near corpse of the very kid I was trying to protect.

Some protection, I think bitterly. I guess he'd get the board's attention without me now, and for completely different reasons.

"Oh, God," I mutter again, unable to fathom what is now reality. I feel numb. Was it even the kid that they wheeled through here? Had it just been my conscience imagining it, feeling bad about yelling at him? I'd never felt bad about yelling at an intern before. They usually just let the insults roll right off of them, but Newbie, he takes it all to heart. That's what made it worse. I know he deserves it less than anyone.

"Perry…"

I flinch. Honestly, I knew it was Jordan before she reached me, hearing the click-clack of her stride coming down the exit of the hospital; it doesn't make her arrival any less displeasing, though.

"Jordan," I say roughly, turning my head away. I don't want her to see me upset.

"Your intern…"

"He's not _my_ intern," I say angrily, taking a few steps away from her. "He's just a kid." I know the words aren't true. That's not how I feel. But I can't quite…I can't quite bear to feel anything, not yet.

It's so stupid. I never let myself get attached to anyone, not really. I have a few good buddies, like Ben and Carla, but it took me years to even consider them "friends." From day one, though, Newbie had been a friend to me. I'd been floundering, wondering what my purpose in life was after I'd emotionally distanced myself from every damn worker in the hospital and lost my wife to an affair. Then he came along, this needy, overly eager intern, asking _me_ for advice, making _me _feel needed. I had a purpose again.

"You don't want to talk about it?" she says bluntly, visibly working to eliminate any traces of sympathy in her voice. We both know that we don't want to go down that road. We're officially booty calls now, and nothing more.

"There's nothing to say. He's dead."

"But he wasn't…"

"Did you see him?" I growl, rounding on her. "Did you see what they brought in? You don't look like that and live, Jordan. You just don't." I kick the wall hard with the force of my whole leg, hearing the sharp noise echo in the quiet parking lot.

She grabs my shoulder. I freeze. There's something about Jordan—hell, there always has been—that makes me stop everything I'm doing and forget where I am. "Calm down," she says, and I feel like I'm under her control.

"I can't," I say, my voice cracking. I feel the defenses starting to fall. I just wish things were like they used to be, back when we were happy. I can still picture our wedding day; how blissful and naïve we were back then. And now, here we are, hardened by sorrow and regrets that we can never shake off.

"I killed him."

"It was a car accident," she snorts, trying to sound nonchalant. "You were doing him a favor when it happened."

I shake my head. "If you'd seen his face," I say hollowly, thinking back. "If you'd seen his face when I yelled at him, you'd have seen. He was upset. Distracted. _I _made that car drive off the road. I know it."

"Oh, so when DJ leans over to fiddle with the radio dial and his car crashes, it's suddenly your fault?"

She's trying to make me smile. But even she knows that that's not going to work.

"I can't believe that the last thing I said to him…"

"He could make it," she reminds me, determined. I smile then. Because I know she doesn't care so much about Newbie, even if she's pretending to; she cares about me a little bit, too.

I sit down on the cement of the walkway, not caring whose way I'm in. Jordan sits down next to me in her fancy skirt and top without any hesitation. "Perry, there was nothing you could have done," she assures me.

I shake my head. "I could have told him the truth. I could have…oh, _God_," I curse again. "This can't be happening. It isn't happening."

Jordan wraps an arm around my shoulders, not saying a word as she rests her head on me.

"Why?" I ask. I don't know what I'm asking about, though. Why is JD going to die? Why do I constantly make an idiot of myself, trying to play puppet master? Why is it that Jordan is still the only one who can possibly understand how I feel?

"I don't know," she sighs miserably. "But I'm sorry."

* * *

"Turk, baby, you have to get over here _now_," I choke into the phone. Kelso passes me and makes a grab for my cell, but I duck out of the way just in time, making a move for the exit.

"Nurse Espinosa, your shift doesn't end for five hours!" he yells after me. I ignore him and continue, walking faster than I mean to and bumping into random people and objects as my eyes begin to blur. I feel my heart beating fast. Could this be happening? To one of _us, _the indestructible Sacred Heart staff?

"What is it?" he asks worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I say, which is a lie. "It's…"

I'm outside now. The bitter air rushes in my face, making me gasp. The tears on my face sting with the cold. "Turk, you have to get over here. JD got in a car accident," I blurt out in a single breath, followed by a small sob of disbelief.

There's silence on the other end. "Baby…" I say, wishing he were with me so I could help him. Hold him. Something—I don't want him to be alone when he hears this, but I know that this is the only way.

"Is he alright?" Turk asks, his voice strained with worry. I think back and realize I've never seen Turk emotional. Nothing usually fazes my man. But JD is his best friend…they've known each other longer than I'll ever know Turk. This is going to crush him.

I don't say anything at first.

"Is he okay?" Turk repeats, louder this time, panicking.

"I…"

"Carla!"

"I don't know!" I cry. "I just…there's…" _There was blood everywhere_, I was going to say. _I don't think he'll live, and that scares me. Not Bambi. He doesn't deserve it. Oh, please, get over here, Turk. Get over here…_

But I don't say anything more; I start crying harder, and before I know it, I'm sliding down the brick wall until I'm sitting on the cold cement, angry with everyone and everything. Why is it always the good guys that finish last? The good that die—

No, Bambi won't die. He can't. He's too good of a friend…no one would ever be the same.

"Is…he…is he going to die?" Turk whispers, breathing hard.

I shake my head. "I hope not."

"I'm coming," he says quickly, making to hang up the phone. "Bye."

"Be careful!" I warn him before I receive a dial tone. The last thing we need is Turk getting into an accident, too. I hang up the phone, looking up for the first time since I walked outside.

"D-Dr. Cox," I greet him awkwardly. "And…Jordan," I add.

For once she has no biting remark to belittle me. "Hey," she says weakly, her head resting on Perry's shoulder. He looks off into the parking lot distantly, his eyes transfixed.

"How's the kid?" Jordan asks, speaking for both herself and Perry.

Her face becomes blurry through the tears. "I don't know," I moan, burying my head in the knees of my pink scrubs. I stand up suddenly, resolutely, making a decision. "I'm going to find out," I say determinedly making for the hospital.

Perry looks up at me, his eyes looking hollow. "He's dead," he tells me coldly. "The kid's dead, I'll tell you that right now."

My fists curl and I feel my body tense, every muscle working overtime to prevent myself from lashing out at him. "Don't be stupid," I say harshly. "Sacred Heart's a good hospital. We have the best damn doctors around."

"And one of them is dead," Dr. Cox reinforced, turning away from me.

I'm about to start screaming at him wildly, completely lash out at him. I need to yell at someone. I've never felt this way before. Normally I'm the one who comforts everyone, makes them feel better, makes them come to their senses…but I _can't_. I need JD, too. He's so lively and happy, and most days we have to have that feeling in the air to keep going. JD is the core of Sacred Heart. The very sacred heart that kept the blood pumping through the halls.

My mouths opens and I croak, suddenly forgetting what I'm about to say. Because I remember JD's last few words to me before he left.

_Dr. Cox decided to give a verbal evaluation. He was…pretty mad._

His pale face, his twitching. His general nervousness. He was worse than Doug, he looked so freaked out.

Imagine how Dr. Cox feels, knowing that those words to JD could be the last he ever says to the kid. I'm not mad anymore, and back comes the old Carla, the real Carla. I step closer to the huddled up pair, standing up straighter.

"He's going to be fine, and you can apologize to him then. It's not too late."

He looks up at me, not even asking how I know. He knows as well as I do who Bambi turns to when he's upset.

"Come with me," I beckon him, reaching for his hand to help him up.

He doesn't take the hand, but he rises slowly.

"I might as well have put the gun right to his head," he mutters, following me up the walk.

I don't say anything…for the first time in my life, I don't know what to say.

* * *

**READ THIS!! **Okay, you know how the baby's name is Isabella on Scrubs? READ MY FIC, "**How to Save a Life**." See how the baby's name is **Isabella **on that, too? Because **I **was the one to promise the freaking name! Go to the Scrubs NBC site--there's a baby naming contest**. I WAS THE ONE WHO PROPOSED ISABELLA, AND IT WON.** But did I get any credit? NO!! Some person named RITA did! That's SO not fair! I knew ahead of time the name would be Isabella because it was the name in the lead by percentage, plus it rocked because I entered it into the site. Stupid jerkfaces. IT WAS SO MY NAME. So you people all know...SOMEONE knows...I PROPOSED THE NAME and I KNEW AHEAD OF TIME, whether those meanheads wish to acknowledge it or not...

AGHHH I'M SO MAD I COULD SCREAM!! But I'm excited. I've sort of kind of left a mark on Scrubs...eh? Wahhh. Maybe we can name JD's baby if it doesn't end up...lol..."in the dumpster." I WAS SO APPALLED, lol. Pizza talk. Heehee. Ten bucks say the Coxes have a girl.


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

Wow!! It sure has been a while since I updated...well...anything. Umm...well, nothing's really changed. I won a writing contest in the paper, though :D. I'm officially published now. Obviously it has nothing to do with the various angstings of JD and the other peoples I heart killing/torturing (physically, mentally, emotionally, etc.). Sorry it's been a bajillion years since I got on. I've had severe writer's block to the point where I can't even look at my own writing, it disgusts me so much, lol. But I'm over it now. My next mid-fic crisis will probably be in another month or so, if we're lucky. I'm trying :D :D :D

* * *

My Evalution

_Chapter Four _

_Am I dead yet? _I wonder to myself hazily. People are yelling. When my eyes finally manage to creak open, everything's blurred and confusing. What I'd give right now for time to just stop…silence, stillness, just a moment of it—I don't even know. Why does everything hurt so bad? Why can't I see right…?

I turn my head over and cough up what tastes like bitter blood. Oh, that's definitely not good, I think to myself. Better go see a doctor about that.

Then for a moment my vision clears. Someone's shining something in my eyes and I recoil.

"John? Can you hear me, John?"

I groan. No one calls me that and gets away with it…I hate that name. Only my mom calls me that, and that's usually only when she's really, really mad.

"His name's JD," says someone with a constricted voice about three hundred decibels higher than everyone else's.

"Dr. Reid, I'm going to have to ask you to leave…"

The pain is unbearable, but for a short moment I'm flooded with relief. I try to lift my hand, searching for something, but it's too heavy. _She can't see me, _I panic, but then I realize where I am. The hospital. With people swarming all around me and noises and pain and…

All of the chaos in my mind builds until all I can manage to splutter out desperately is, "_Elliot_."

"I'm here, JD. I'm here…"

I hear her crying. I want to tell her not to cry…it's okay. I'll be fine, it's okay, it's alright, it's fine…it's okay…But it's not really okay, is it? It's not even halfway okay. It hurts—so god damn _much_. Death seems like relief compared to this.

I focus on what little I can hear of Elliot. They've obviously let her come closer to me, because I can hear her breathing, strained and upset. She grabs my hand.

"You'll be fine," she says shakily, and I can hear her suppressing another sob. "Hang in there, JD, you'll be fine, understand?"

She's asking me a question that I can't answer. That I _won't_ answer. I can't understand much of anything right now…all I want to do is close my eyes and make everything go away. Is that too much to ask?

"Are you listening, JD?" she asks me, her voice practically in my ear now. "You gotta stay awake. Keep on fighting it…you have to…"

I start coughing again. My ribcage flares in agony—something's broken, but I can't tell what. I'm giving these doctors hell right now, I realize, much to my chagrin. Usually I was the one trying to rattle the diagnoses out of ER and ICU patients, being the intern who can't be trusted with anything else, and it just plain sucks. Of course Elliot is here. It would make sense, wouldn't it?

"My God, JD, what the hell did you do?"

We're moving. People are still yapping at each other. _Shut up! Just SHUT UP!_ I want to scream. Just leave me here, I need to think. I need to…I need to sleep or something, and they keep poking me.

Someone pokes at my ribs and I gasp in pain, choking on some vile liquid. What the hell do they think they're doing? It makes me want to reach up and strangle someone. Poking me, waiting for my reaction, yelling some more…disturbing the peace. _My _peace. How would _they _like someone screaming in their face? I mean, as if it doesn't hurt enough, now they're piercing my ears and rattling me awake and prodding at me.

"JD…JD…can you hear me?"

Yes. Yes, Elliot, I can hear you. I feel your hand slipping away from mine, I can hear your heart beating faster and faster as I hear the monitor tracking my own beep rapidly.

"JD!" she shrieks.

"He's coding," someone yells, the only distinct words not belonging to Elliot that I have heard in the past hour.

My chest hurts. Oh, god. I can't breathe. Oh, God…

* * *

"NO!" I scream as someone pulls me away. "LET ME GO!" 

"Elliot—Elliot, please—"

I kick and flail, fighting to get back to JD. He needs me with him! He needs me to hold his hand! Who else will? There's no one else here who knows him all that well. He's completely alone and hurt and…dying, holy _shit_, he's dying.

"Get the HELL off of me!" I swing my arm around and manage to sock whoever has me pinned in the face. The arms let go of me and I crumble to the ground in a heap, watching JD's gurney and a mayhem of doctors rush down the hallway, out of my sight. I curl into a ball then.

He's gone.

Then I bawl uncontrollably. JD would never speak to me again. He'd never laugh at my klutziness only to reassure me I was fine, he'd never drift off in a middle of a conversation and say something so stupid and funny that it's impossible not to forgive him for it, he'd never let me steal his fries and mess with his hair gel…

I'm going to throw up. But I don't. Instead I cry harder, backed up against the wall, wondering how the hell this could happen. JD's my best friend. Practically my _only_ friend. I'd never known anyone as happy and good-natured and genuine as JD before, and now he's dying, leaving all of us behind. It's not fair. I need him, damn it, I need him more than anything!

Someone's hands are on my shoulders, firm and strong even when I try to shake them off. I open my eyes, trying to reorient. Where was I? What was I doing…?

"Doug," I say softly, my voice raw from yelling.

He's sitting next to me on the wall, shaking hard. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, looking down. "She told me to." He looks over at Nurse Roberts, whose tears are falling freely, staring at me with the worst expression of pity I've ever seen anyone make.

I touch my own face and feel the coolness of my tears against the warmth of the blood on my palms. The red streaks on my face and I let out a sharp breath in shame. It's not _my _blood, it's JD's…and now my face is painted with it.

"Doug…" I repeat, turning to look at him. His scrubs are bloody too, tainted with the same blood. I remember hitting him, ramming him, forcing all of my strength to tear back at JD. I was an animal. How had he held me back?

He's breathing hard, looking ashamed. "That was JD," he says pathetically, unable to voice anything else aloud.

"Yeah," I respond. Then it all becomes surreal. Was it JD? How could I even be sure?

Then I shake my head slowly. I'm not stupid. I know it was him. He said my name, frantic and terrified and pained.

"I'm sorry I hit you," I whisper. He nods. I can barely see his outline through the blur of my tears. I let out another sob, a chill running up my spine.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

That's the problem. I'm fine. Somehow I don't think I should feel fine when JD is in agony.

"Are you okay, Elliot?" he asks again, breathless with fear.

I blink, looking up at Doug. He's pale and quivering beside me, waiting for my reaction. He purses his lips, looking down at that silly waist pack he always keeps tied around his scrubs bottoms. His watery eyes dart towards me for a moment, then look away ashamedly.

"No," I finally croak, leaning into him. "No, I'm not okay."

He doesn't move. If anything, he freezes completely, awkwardly putting his arm around my shoulder. "I, uh…" he struggles.

When I look up again the hallway is empty. It's just us. Nurse Roberts has clearly pulled everyone who could leave out of the area, and for that I'm thankful. I don't think I could handle everyone seeing me like this…they just wouldn't understand.

It seems to me like JD would be the least likely of us to die. It's a horrible thought to think that one of your friends will die before the other, but it's true—even now, as I know JD's either hovering between life and death or…has already passed, I believe that someone else would be more fit in his place. Tragedy. JD just doesn't…didn't…_do_ tragedy. He's funny. He's silly. Life's a playground to JD.

Why does it have to be him? Why couldn't it be someone else?

My body wracks once more in a silent sob, causing Doug to flinch. His _face. _JD's face as he lay there on that gurney. He couldn't see me. His eyes were open and clouded, but he couldn't see me at all. His expression was the very epitome of fear. It looked as though all the fun, all the laughter, that playground he'd made for us, had all been stripped away. I'm right in thinking it couldn't have been JD in that accident. It _isn't_ JD. Not our JD.

Doug's pager goes off.

"Go on," I bid him.

He reluctantly checks the page. "Just Ted," he says shakily, ignoring it.

I don't ask. Instead I bolt up from the floor like a rocket, receiving a squeak from my terrified companion. "C'mon, Doug," I choke defiantly. "We can't let them push us around. We're going to see JD, dammit."

"He-he's in the OR," Doug stutters, clambering up to follow me. "We can't—"

"You don't have to come with me," I tell him, not meanly. I hurry out of the hall.

I hear Doug's uncertain clomps trailing my stride. "But—" He cuts himself off, unable to think of anything to say. He wordlessly runs up to follow me as I walk with the littlest amount of visibility I've ever walked in my life, my eyes bleeding tears like a fountain.

We finally stop outside the OR, looking in on JD's surgery. The heart monitor's beeping again, though erratically. He's alive. He's not dead. Oh, thank God…

Wait. Everyone's moving so quickly. Dr. Wen, he's there, scowling violently as he works. Why…?

I press my hand to the glass. "Hold on, JD," I mutter, wishing he could hear me.

Doug swallows hard. I'd almost forgotten his presence.

"It'll…be okay," he says tentatively, putting a quaking hand on my shoulder.

I bite my lip. "Thanks, Doug."

* * *

Don't worry, there will be no DougxElliot. Ewwww. I just used him to restrain her because Sean and Keith weren't there yet, Dr. Cox was AWOL and probably wouldn't care, Turk was angstily driving to the hospital, The Todd was...well, 'nuff said, Dr. Kelso doesn't have a heart, and JD was...well...let's hope you know if you're actually reading this fic, morons. Doug was the only male figure left besides Ted, and that could be awkward. :D

So, uhh...review:D Thanks for the nagging, people, it truly inspired me. And I mean that seriously, not sarcastically!! Lol:D Lots-o-love,

running in circles

See? Changed my sn. I decided since I'm fifteen and a half I should have a name that actually, you know, suited me. -is not twelve anymore- :D


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I don't own Scrubs.

Whew! Sorry it took so long to update, everyone. I totally meant to . . . I've just been scarily busy lately. Just ask my teachers, they'll all tell ya. And my swim coaches. And my manager. And . . . shutting up now, time for a fic!

* * *

**My Evaluation**

_Chapter Five_

When I come back to reality I'm standing in front of my girlfriend at the mouth of Sacred Heart, the fluorescent letters hovering above me. There are pools of water in her eyes, tricking in the light, rolling down her cheeks. It doesn't occur to me that I should cry until I see her, and then suddenly the world is crumbling.

"Baby," she chokes, running up to me and wrapping her arms around my waist. She buries her head in my shoulder, sobbing. I can't even see her anymore, the tears coming in a flood, my heart pounding faster. _How did I even get here in one piece?_ I wonder as I start shaking with grief.

My best friend in the whole world. The person who knew and understood me better than anyone I'd ever met. He's dying. He might already be dead.

I don't even lift my arms up to hug Carla back, I'm in such a zombie like state. "JD," I mutter numbly.

She sobs harder, muffling the noise in my jacket. I stiffen. This can't be good.

"Is he…?"

At these words she lifts her head, facing me. "He's alive," she manages to croak out. But she doesn't sound very hopeful. Her eyes are red and strained, her mouth drawn in tight as if trying to imprison the emotion it emanates.

I wish I could comfort her, but I can't. My hands fall loosely at my sides before I can even wipe that lingering tear off her cheek. All I can do is stare at her disbelievingly. It didn't seem real until someone cried, and now…

Now I'm _angry_ with her. _She's_ upset? She's known him for what, eight months? Nine? Sure, she's been the mother hen of JD from the start, and yes, they're great friends, but honestly—I've known him for almost nine years now. If anything happens to him, my life will change forever, and it will inevitably for the worst. It's selfish, it's a horrible thought, but when it comes down to it, JD can't die because I wouldn't be able to function without his constant happiness and quirky nature. What right does _she _have to be sad about it?

"It's not fair," she sobs, and I feel the weight of her head leaning into my chest, feel her pounding heart next to mine.

I can't say anything. I'm too afraid that it will come out as hostile and upset as I feel, so I let her cry, standing in the cold, empty wasteland that is the hospital parking lot.

Finally, I manage to say quietly, almost calmly, "He's going to die, isn't he?"

She doesn't respond, freezing in my arms.

"Isn't he?" I repeat, my voice cracking. And then the floodgates come pouring out. "_Isn't he?_"

She takes a step back. I breathe in deeply, trying to stay calm, stay in control. Instead I just sit on the curb of the lot, burying my head in my hands, wishing over and over again that I could replay this night and have it work out differently. What if I hadn't switched shifts with that other intern, and I'd ended up leaving with JD tonight instead? We'd probably have stayed at the hospital a couple of minutes later to do our normal soda run, and then the accident might not have happened…

Then I remember. It was an accident.

"Who hit him?" I ask out of the blue, right as Carla sits down to comfort me.

She looks a bit alarmed by my sudden blurt. "Um…" She pauses. "Nobody, baby. Nobody hit him."

That isn't the answer I was expecting. "What?" I breathe, barely able to form the word.

She shakes her head, more tears falling loosely down her cheeks. She swipes them away and says, "Apparently…well, a cop told me that there was a man running across the street in the dark, and JD veered out of the way so he wouldn't hit him."

The information won't process. "I don't understand," I say numbly, my voice feeling thin.

"It was a criminal, running from the police. A drug dealer. That's why the response team came so fast—the policemen in the chase heard the crash and found JD's car…smashed up and completely totaled." She can't say anymore. Her face crumples and she rests her head on my shoulder, hiccupping from crying.

I almost feel detached, like she isn't even with me. I feel so hideously alone. Whenever I was sad—truly, really sad, I could always count on JD to be there for me. He understands. He never turns anyone who needs help away, or laughs or makes their problems seem insignificant.

When I come to myself again I realize that I'm not alone. That I should respond in some way to the nonsense she'd just spieled.

"Oh."

* * *

It's dark. I see lights dancing in front of my eyes. Have you ever looked on the inside of your eyelids, and seen the weird colors flashing around? You never really notice them when you close your eyes to go to sleep, but if you do, it's scary, isn't it? It's like there are creatures dancing some exotic, mindless routine in your eyeballs. You can't escape them, so you blink, and then you usually just forget them and fade into your own thoughts. 

I have no other thoughts. I can't remember anything, can't focus on anything. Sometimes, when I was really stressed in med school, I felt like I had a thousand thoughts fleeting through my head at once, and it made my head hurt so much that I wanted to take the damn text books and fling them out of our second story dorm window. I'd give anything for that feeling now, that reassurance of my existence with the pain.

Oh, but there's still pain now. It's just not the good kind of pain. The good kind of pain is being sore after working out really hard, or being tired enough at the end of the day to sleep peacefully, or winning a really intense thumb war with your best friend (err, make that _losing _a bajillion times and then winning when said best friend fell asleep…)

I wonder what's going on in the rest of the world right now. I hate being cut off. This wouldn't be nearly as hard if I could just talk to someone about it…someone like Carla. She always listens to people. But seeing as I can't exactly talk right now, it doesn't matter much anyway. I wonder vaguely if Elliot's told anyone I'm here—assuming, of course, that it _was_ Elliot I heard earlier…I won't put myself past hallucinations. At this point, anything could happen.

How wild. Me, JD, getting into a car accident. It's almost ironic enough to be funny. JD, the doctor who treats car accident patients all the time; JD, the dork who watches medical dramas (except for that evil Grey's Anatomy) that have freak accidents with everything from the Plague to bombs (damn it, that WAS Grey's Anatomy!); JD, the overly cautious driver who wore a helmet in the driver's seat when he first got his permit. Yeah, that's me. Turns out it doesn't matter if those accidents seem vague and impossible. Turns out it doesn't matter if you know the rules of the road better than anyone, or you spent half your Safeway paycheck one month taking defensive driving courses in a pathetic attempt to avoid suicidal squirrels. Turns out karma sucks.

Okay, so it is kind of funny. But it hurts like hell. I wonder—not for the first time since the initial crash—if I'm going to die. It's a casual thought this time; there isn't much room for a range of emotions, considering the state I'm in. It isn't the sort of trip-and-fall from kindergarten, where if you shut up your crying fast enough the teachers will stick a lollipop in your mouth. It's the sort of go-into-cardiac-arrest injury from Big Kid land, where if your heart stops long enough the big, shiny metal slabs of doom will shock you in your chest. Believe me, I already _know_ they hurt (mostly because I ate Turk's pudding one day and he retaliated in the worst means possible).

_How long has it been since the car flipped?_ I wonder. That might give me some idea of what's happening. I've always liked knowing the time. For some reason it makes me feel in control of what's going on. If it's only been ten minutes, then damn it to hell if it hasn't been the worst (and probably last) ten minutes of my life. But if it's been an hour or two or even three and I'm still alive, then there's hope, right? I could still live.

It sucks. I don't even get to have any famous last words. I'm not even sure where my mouth is right now, a far cry from emitting any sort of noise. It's just black with the dancing lights on the inside of my eyelids…maybe I'll give them names…

* * *

"Where's Carla?" 

Her voice is cracked and low, deflated-sounding. From the corner of my eye I look over at my normally nervous, stricken intern. She's not blowing the hair out of her face anymore. It just hangs there over her tears. Damn it to hell, I hate it so much when that freak of a girl messes with the broomstick on her skull, but I would do anything to have her do it now. Break the silence. But I suppose she just did.

I realize she's talking to me, although her stare remains fixed against the wall. "She..." I think for a moment. Where _is_ Carla? When did she leave? Didn't we come up here together only a few moments ago?

I check the clock. It's been a half hour since...they brought the kid in. I think. I look at the clock again. No, an hour's passed. So where had Carla gone?

_Perry...I have to go get Turk, alright? Stay with Elliot. Stay here. _

"She's with..." I nearly say Gandhi, but I'm not in the mood. Nobody is. I make a vague hand gesture and she nods in understanding.

Jordan's sitting in the chair next to me. We were watching the kid in surgery for a few minutes with Nervous Guy and Barbie, nobody speaking a word as we watched the surgeons rush with the sort of urgency and fury that no other person but the kid could command. Nobody here wanted to see him die...they would do anything, regardless of whether or not the kid wanted to live.

I was mulling this over, gazing into the windows of the OR. His head was bleeding enough to make anyone wonder about the possible brain damage. His chest, arms, and legs were covered with embedded shards of glass now inked a shining red. But nobody was concerned about that, as it seemed he was coding for the third time since he entered the OR.

My eyes started watering. I couldn't bear it. He was suffering; anyone could see it. I may want to kill him on a daily basis, but I never truly wanted him to _die._ He had so much potential. Damn it, I was going to _help_ him. No one has ever made me want to help them. Hell, I'm the narcissist of the bunch, am I not? Why should I ever care about what happens to some intern?

But I could see it in him right away. More than potential—I could see that he was in this for all the wrong reasons, for all the reasons that would make his life a living hell. He wanted to save lives, to help people, to make people smile. Heroic, yes; but more stupid than anything else. Those very intentions are the same ones that lost me my wife and everything I cared about. But people like that, the ones that actually care—you can't beat it out of them. They stay like that. Newbie was good, and he was in it for the long run.

I knew, though, that when the time came, we'd have to let him die. That same desire to help people was the one that drove me at that moment. We'd have to let him go. It wouldn't be fair to bring him back if he would only suffer. Could anyone truly recover after being in such a state? Would anyone want to?

It was then that my thoughts were interrupted by the hitch in Elliot's breath. I knew what was happening before she knew herself. Her knees buckled under her, leaving her sitting on the tile floor in small, quiet hysterics. Had I any sense I would have moved to help her, but my eyes were transfixed on the team in the OR, reacting to the incessant drone of the heart monitor ringing its piercing cry.

They brought him back. I knew they would—the kid would fight, and the surgeons would fight, and we'd sit here and watch them, hoping they'd win against the invisible enemy. Nervous Guy leaned down to help Elliot before she grew any more distressed, and quietly led her out of the room.

"Let's go," Jordan whispered as they left.

I followed her out to the waiting room. Now I sit here, watching the clock, wondering when someone would come out and give us the news. Is he dead now? Is he still struggling? If they bring him back, will he be the same? Will _I _be the same? How could anyone treat him the same after this?

That is, assuming that he'd live. Which he probably won't.

Jordan squeezes my hand and I look up to see a surgeon entering the room.

"You're here for John Dorian?" he asks.

Nobody answers. Finally Elliot says, "We're here for JD," offering him some acknowledgement.

He takes a deep breath.

* * *

Okay, did anyone else HATE last night episode as much as I did?? Oh...wait.

**SPOILER ALERT**

**SPOILER ALERT**

**SPOILER ALERT**

**SPOILER ALERT**

Alright. Back to what I was saying. Last night's episode?? Piece of CRAP. That's not even an excuse for an episode, and JD even _acknowledged_ what a crappy, plotless cop-out it was! What the _hell_? I wait all week for Scrubs. It's the highlight of my school/work/sport frenzied days. I _need_ Scrubs like drugs or something. And . . . well, it's like asking for for a piece of cake and getting rotten buttermilk and carrots instead. "Recap" my ass. The directors of that particular episode--hell, whoever _came up_ with all that BS--ought to be shot. I hope next week is better. Actually, if it's not, then . . . I'll send a mean letter. TO MY ALL TIME TV SHOW. I'm not even kidding--I would do it!

AND WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WITH KIM? Is she dead or something? I don't get it! Will they ever bring her back before the season (or hopefully not series) finale??

**AND HOLY BEJEEZUS, DR. COX SHAVED HIS F-ING HEAD?? **What _is_ that, some sort of twisted joke? That was the only interesting part of the whole episode. I mean, yay, big whoop, a suicide patient. Good to know that you fall back on awkward plot devices too, People Who Make Scrubs. I didn't _care _about the plot and the sentimentality and the cheesiness. Dr. Cox **SHAVED HIS HEAD. **HEADLINE NEWS: HIS HEAD IS AS BALD AS TURK'S.

Which wouldn't have been so disturbing if someone had just _mentioned _it on the show. Like, "Aw, gee, nice _haircut, _Dr. C," or something like that. Where the hell was JD? Probably daydreaming. Aw, shucks, I don't care. I'm mostly pissed about how bored-to-tears that thing made me. I mean, hullo, I've _seen_ all these episodes they recapped. I knew the lines and was saying them before the characters did. My parents were growing alarmed with my extensive Scrubs knowledge.

Anyway. Sorry. I needed to rant there :D.

running in circles


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